


The Huntress of Annwn

by CozyCryptidCorner



Category: Original Work, exophilia - Fandom
Genre: Exophilia, F/F, Fae Girlfriend, Female Reader, First Dates, Trapped in another world, monster girlfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 02:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16883616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyCryptidCorner/pseuds/CozyCryptidCorner
Summary: You stumbled into the Otherworld by accident. With a Fae girl's help, you begin to navigate through your new life, at least until you can get back to your old one.





	The Huntress of Annwn

With your overpriced beverage of choice from a chain cafe, you tuck your book bag under your arm and quicken your pace. The spicy smell from street vendors beckons you to sample their wares, and if you were not so pressed for time, you would definitely wander over to where a middle-aged woman with a salt-and-pepper braid trailing past her waist is stirring an oversized wooden spoon in a large cast iron skillet. But you ignore the suggestive growls of your stomach and move faster. There is a job interview to be had.

 

Already the long line in the cafe set your internal schedule back a little more than you would have preferred. With your headphones blasting music and eyes trained on the maps app, you block out all of your surroundings and focus on moving your legs as quickly as possible. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a soft flutter of pale, feathered wings that you immediately dismiss as a pigeon.

 

“Turn left now.” Your GPS chirps.

 

A large intersection stands between you and your final destination. You poke at the crosswalk button, knowing that it probably does nothing other than soothe your nerves from the simple habit. While waiting for the turning traffic to cease, you skip over several songs that you are not in the mood for at the moment. A flash of white catches your attention, the signal for the pedestrians flashing its permission to cross. Glancing in the direction of the paused traffic, you half-jog across the street.

 

There is no exact moment where you notice something is wrong. Clouds hang heavy overhead, almost blacking out the sun in their thickness. You pull up your hood and hope the rain waits until you are inside. A soft glow warms your periphery as the streetlights begin to illuminate the city. The acidic scent of smog fades, as though you are walking past an overflowing flower shop. Your GPS beeps a protest, the screen of your phone fritzing to black for a split second. The screen lights back up, the map blank.

 

“Recalculating.” The GPS says with the same amount of its usual cheer.

 

Network not found. You stare at the popup for a moment, confounded to lose signal in the middle of a buzzing metropolis, then glance up to your cell bars. Nothing. Slipping your headphones from your ears, you stare as calmly as you can manage at your suddenly new surroundings. The warm lights are closer to the ground than you initially thought, and aren’t the products of modern electricity. Lanterns made from paper and wires line the edges of this strange alleyway, the candles within flickering as you walk past them.

 

This is not right. This can not be right. You look behind you, trying to spot the busy intersection that you just came from, yet you see nothing but barely cobbled together buildings as far as your vision allows. Mystified, you begin to backtrack as you search for any landmarks you might recognize, your brain refusing to comprehend what had just happened. You try to rationalize the sudden shift in your surroundings. You were not paying attention, maybe the GPS misled you, you probably entered the address wrong, perhaps you are in some sub-city like Chinatown? The cobblestone looks smooth from years of constant use, the edges weathered and rounded.

 

The buildings around you rise up into the sky, the walls a mismatched patchery of different materials hastily pieced together. A roof that you can barely make out against the misty darkness is multi-inclined, a sweeping architectural design that you recognize with its rust-colored shingles and intricately carved ridges. Maybe you  _are_  in a Chinatown, you wonder, looking over your shoulder and seeing the faint flicker of violet LEDs flashing in the distance.

 

With no other option than to ask someone for directions, you white-knuckle your book bag and cautiously walk over to where you see the electric light flickering. Vines crawl through the available crevices, the more crumbly parts of the building free real estate for various ferns that make the harsh cement and metal their home. The further you move, the more decrepit and torn the buildings become until suddenly they are nothing but ruins, rocks barely poking out of the soft mossy ground. A forest with trees as high as the eye can see spans before you, the wood splashed in intermittent light as the neon purple reads  _Vacancies._  The sign itself is as tall as you, though it stands on stilts to be seen from afar.

 

Vacancies for what? You wonder, a keen sense of danger finally settling in your lungs. You spin around, the fully built part of the city further behind than you originally thought. Though you did not see anything while you were trapesing through the alley that could suggest people, the city is flickering with activity as the sky darkens to an impossible black. The deep throb of loud bass echoes in the ground, the sound of partying making its way to the edges of civilization.

 

Puzzled, you turn back to the sign, its flashing message reminding you gently that there are vacancies. A moving shadow catches your eye, the shape of someone making their way into an open crevice of a tree trunk. Though you had not noticed before (and you cannot fathom why), there are little lights strung along the opening like a welcoming signal to anyone passing by. Quickly you walk over, biting your lip as a wave of anxiety washes over you with every step you take. The smell of something indescribably delicious hits your nose, and your stomach growls in its best impression of a caged lion.

 

Though you do not think you could fit through the opening, somehow you manage to do without the slightest struggle. Wooden steps curl downwards into what appears to be some kind of tavern, almost bursting at the seams with patrons. It takes only a moment for your eyes to adjust to the change in light. People of every size sit at the tables and bar, the chatter suddenly breaking the silence you had been used to, the dull roar like thunder in your ears.

 

“Watcha need, love?” A stocky barmaid on the opposite side of the bar counter asks once you make your way over in a confused shuffle. The shelves behind her had oddly shaped glass bottles of various colored liquids, some of them giving off a dull glow in the warm light of the lanterns hanging from the ceiling. One of the bottles tips over and breaks seemingly on its own, though the barmaid does not even turn around as the green ooze splatters over the wooden floor.

 

“I think I’m lost,” you say, looking down at your phone to recheck your cell service. Nothing.

 

“Ah, none of those mortal knick-knacks work down here. Go shove Samos off his stool and I’ll getcha something to drink.” She gestures in the general direction of a hulking figure bent over a table.

 

Unsure, you walk over to where she pointed. You tap on the hulking creature’s shoulder and shy away once he turns to looks at you. He has a large underbite, saber teeth poking out from his violet mouth. A large scar runs down from the top of his forehead through his eye, the iris a milky color. The grunt he makes causes you to shrink away further while you scramble for words. “Um, uh, she,” you hastily point to the barmaid as she fills a mug with an amber colored liquid, “told me to, uh, ask you-” He interrupts you with a growl, the sounds drilling into your bones. You take another step back, your lungs expanding in the expectation of a scream.

 

“Samos, stop terrifying the poor creature and give her the damn chair, you big oaf!” The barmaid shouts over the indifferent patrons. Without further protest, he gets off a thin-legged stool that could not possibly hold his weight and shoves it towards you. Samos, ironically, is large enough to interact with the food on the table even when he sits on the floor just as comfortably.

 

You move the stool up to the bar and hop on, letting your feet dangle off the floor. The barmaid is quick to push you a large, wooden mug with foam brimming over its edges. You take a sniff and notice that, well, it does not smell like beer’s typical grainy aroma, but rather a little sweeter. Apple cider, maybe? Pear cider?

 

“I, uh… you don’t happen to accept cards, do you?” You reach into your bookbag. Damn, you did not think you would need cash today, so the folded part of your wallet is decidedly empty. A couple of quarters and a nickel reside in your coin pocket, but you doubt eighty cents is going to cover a pint of beverage.

 

“Don’t fret, dearie. Take it.” The barmaid smiles widely, too widely, her eyes flickering over your hands. Then her attention is called away to a rowdy new customer.

 

Nervously, you stare at your drink before you reach over the table.  _Just a sip,_  you say to yourself,  _don’t be impolite._  Before your fingers so much as graze the wood, a hand snatches one of your wrists and jerks it away from the mug. “What,” the owner of the hand hisses, “are  _you_  doing here?”

 

You have to shift your body to look at her. Another hand firmly rests on your shoulder, fingers clutching you with an iron grip. Her hair is darker than any color you have ever comprehended, a black so absolute that is sucks in all light around it. It falls past her breasts and has the slightest curl at the end, soft wisps that look like glitter scarcely dotting the hair’s lower half. A tunic that hovers between being dark gray and navy covers her violet-tinged skin, the material thin as a whisp, not particularly leaving much to the imagination.

 

 _I am lost,_  you could say.  _I can’t find my way back, and I have been trying,_  you could also say. But your brain is so frazzled by her closeness, by her ferocity that all that comes out of your mouth is a hesitant, “um.. my phone? Stopped working.” Genius.

 

She fumbles in her purse for a moment, retrieving coppery coins too big to be pennies, and places them firmly on the table. “Don’t just accept things when you do not know the price they come with.”

 

“I thought-”

 

“I know what you thought.” She turns to the person closest to you on a bar stool and shoves them off. The creature has a wolf’s head, its figure full of fur like you have never seen before. Every hair in your body stands on end when the thing growls, whipping around, teeth gnashing with the desire for blood. When the beast actually notices the new occupant of the stool, however, all fight dissipates from their muscles as they slink away from the bar.

 

The barmaid returns, her face expression suddenly far from bubbly, eyeing the newcomer only briefly before taking a rag to wipe down the counter. “Sela,” she greets with little enthusiasm.

 

“Abilene,” Sela responds with an equal amount of coldness in her voice.

 

“Still digging into other people’s business, I see.”

 

“Still tricking people into eternal servitude, I see.” Sela calmly tosses several more coins on the counter. “Roasted lamb for me, and whatever you have fresh in the soup pot for my friend.”

 

The barmaid’s eyes seem to be black, though only for a moment. When she smiles once more, your stomach churns. “Of course. I always take care of paying patrons, don’t I.”

 

“You most certainly do.” Sela’s response is clipped, as though once she was on the unspoken other end of that statement.

 

The barmaid goes into the back, hiking up her skirt to reveal the bottom half of a spider. Six spindly legs  _click click click_  against the floor as she retreats through a fabric covered door, glancing back at Sela with a deathly look in her eye.

 

“Don’t mind her,” Sela turns back to you, “Abilene isn’t terrible as long as you know not to trust her.”

 

“Mmhm.” You hum, resisting the urge to scream as best you can.

 

Sela drums her fingers against the counter, her nails glimmering navy. “I suspect that your entrance to this realm was accidental.”

 

“My entrance. Yes.” Your brain is muddled trying to desperately make sense of what she is saying.

 

Abilene returns with a bowl of stew and a plate with meat unstably piled atop it, setting the bowl down in front of you and the plate in front of Sela. The stew is steaming with heat, the scent reaching your stomach directly and causing it to growl. The spidery woman flashes the both of you a sharp-toothed smile before tending to her other customers.

 

You pick up a spoon, staring at the carved handle, trying to gain the confidence to speak again. “Um. Where am I, exactly?”

 

“Annwn, the Other World.” Sela lifts a hunk of meat off her plate and takes a bite. “You must have wandered through the veil by accident. It happens during solstice when the walls between the worlds are at their weakest.”

 

“Oh.” Your voice is very small. “I don’t suppose you can bring me back.”

 

Sela clears her throat, lifting a goblet of ruby liquor and swirling the contents. “If you had asked me a few hours ago, perhaps.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“It means that you have appeared during the tail-end of the solstice weakening. Now the veils are strong, stronger than what even the more gifted sorcerers can work with. I am afraid that your options are limited to waiting six months for the veils to weaken once more.” She gives you a small smile, one full of empathy and understanding.

 

There is nothing you can do but believe her. Asking around led to the same exact answer as the one Sela gave, usually with less explanation and more hungry looks. You are quick to understand that both your body and soul are hot commodities here in this Otherworld, and that the people relatively enjoy playing games to try and trick you out of both those things. Sela is the only one who you trust, and she is also the only one whose gaze does not send shivers up and down your spine. With her help, you manage to finagle a job from the barmaid as a waitress that does not include Abilene keeping your soul in a jar for ‘safekeeping.’

 

You shuttle around during the evenings and nights, picking up empty plates and refilling mugs with liquor. During the occasional bar fight, you are quick to hide under the counter and wait for the noise to die down, going to pick up the pieces of the demolished room only when it quiets. You do not give Abilene any reason to complain and tread extra carefully if she seems like she is in an abnormally cheerful mood.

 

For all the labor that you go through, you get one of the vacant rooms of the inn to sleep in during the day and plenty of food to pick at whenever you need to. All things considered, with the single silver coin you get once a week for exceptional work, you don’t believe it is too bad of a gig. Considering that without your negotiator, you would probably be in one of those strangely tinted bottles that Abilene keeps in her office.

 

Tonight, Sela sits in her usual place at the end of the bar, her eyes narrowed in scrutiny as she stares at the paper in her hands. Her mouth scrunches up in a cute little heart as her eyes dance across the page, her attention focused entirely. You place her usual order on the counter and slide it to her, a sense of warmth running through your body when she looks up from her work to you.

 

“Hey,” you say, “if you stare any harder, the paper might burst into flames.”

 

Sela blinks. “I’m not a fire elemental?” Her response is confused. “I can’t set things on fire with my mind.”

 

“Oh, I was just joking.” You take her mug of cider and fill it to the brim.

 

Sela’s smile caused the muscles in your legs to weaken. “I know. I was just giving you a hard time.”

 

“Trickster.” As you pass Sela her cup back, your fingers brush against hers. Heat pricking your cheeks, you try to dig for more information. “So… if you aren’t a fire elemental, what do you do?”

 

Her fingers tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m a huntress.”

 

“What do you hunt?” You ask, having to step away when one of the other regulars waved an empty mug in your direction. Once you return, Sela had put her papers away in her satchel and started devouring her meal.

 

Instead of answering your previous question, Sela clears her throat once her mouth is empty of food. “So what time does the hag let you off?”

 

It would be a lie to say that your heart did not skip a beat. “Just before dawn,” you respond, maybe a little too quickly, “why?”

 

“I was thinking, if you are fine with it, to show you around the city a bit more. Maybe spend some of those coins on an extra outfit.” Sela is only poking fun, but the pinpricks of heat return to your cheeks. Though the apron does well to hide it, the shirt you borrowed from Abilene is positively enormous on you. It creases in all the wrong places and makes you look like a disgruntled pillowcase.

 

“If you want to,” you say, trying to keep yourself from vibrating with excitement, “I would love that.”

 

You have to be extra thorough in cleaning so that Abilene would not try and keep you for longer. The counter is scrubbed to the point where you could eat off it, the tables glimmering in the candlelight. When the sun makes its appearance through the skylight, you neatly fold your apron and set it on the back kitchen. In your room, which seems pretty modern compared to the rustic tavern several stories above, you quickly change from the baggy overshirt to the blouse you arrived in. Though a little worn around the edges, it still fits your body much better, and since you put it on with a job interview in mind, it is relatively nice-looking.

 

Sela is waiting for you in the empty tavern, wearing a pale, knee-length tunic and leather boots that cover her knees. Her hair is up in a ponytail, twin strands on either side of her face in perfectly arranged coils. She must be wearing lipstick since her mouth is several shades darker than usual.

 

“Hey.” You say, folding your hands together.

 

“Hey.” Her lips curve into a smile as she looks at you. Sela steps aside and gestures for you to go ahead. “Shall we go?”

 

In all honesty, you had not stepped foot outside of the inn since you first walked in. Not even to explore. After the fiasco with Abilene trying to bargain you out of your soul and Sela literally the only thing standing in her way, you decided to not go anywhere without some kind of ally to back you up. And now, lo and behold, the bad bitch herself is giving you a personal escort through the city you first found yourself in.

 

“So, um, why is this area so different than the forest?” You ask, really just referring to the sudden difference in the architecture.

 

“It’s a different realm, with different gods and different rules,” Sela explains. “When the mortal world expands their horizons, so does their corresponding realm of immortals and fae. They used to be very separate, as were your cultures and countries. But now as travel and communication accelerate, so does our own growth and movement.” She points to one of the crystalline skyscrapers. “This is what the Chinese mortals call the  _Heavenly Realm,_  the home of their gods and deities.”

 

“Whoa.” You mutter, gazing around at the intricately carved pillar in front of you. This must be the nicer part of town, the buildings all pristine and uniform, much unlike the alleyway you found yourself in a few months ago. “That’s.. Wow, that’s amazing.”

 

“It’s just progress. Just like you could hop on a plane and land in a different country yourself.” Sela shrugs indifferently. “Our realms are just a little tighter knit than a whole planet.”

 

The two of you make your way into a quaint looking shop, clothes and slippers all elaborately decorated with boldly colored embroidery. The girl at the counter is visibly younger than you by a couple of years, with a brilliantly non-threatening smile and works with an eagerness to please. She is quick to pull out several pieces that look like they could fit you, and promise to have everything sewn to your measurements by the end of the day.

 

You run your fingers over the fabric, tracing the thick thread that weaves itself into a bed of flowers. Though you are a little put off by the lack of price tags, you reassure yourself that Sela knows your budget is limited and would not bring you into an Otherworld Gucci store. You glance at a mirror and hold one of the shirts up to your chest, checking to see if it matched your pants or not.

 

Sela looks over your shoulder and insists that one of the tunics compliments your skin tone beautifully. There are leaves embroidered around the collar, the buttons glimmering against a metallic hold. You think those are actual jewels, and your mouth is already opened to come up with some flimsy excuse as to why you can’t buy that when Sela is reaching into her bag for her money purse.

 

“Oh, Sela, you don’t have to-”

 

“I want to,” Sela states, handing the girl a handful of coins and telling her to keep the change.

 

You wait until the two of you are back outside before addressing the money again, walking down the sunny square towards what Sela claims is the best leather workers this side of the Rhine. “Why are you so kind?” You ask dumbly, fingers fidgeting nervously. “I mean, I would have thought that this is just how your people are if I did not have Abilene and the other patrons of the inn to look out for. Why are you so,” you pause, trying to think of the right word and ending on, “different?”

 

Sela hums, almost to herself. After a moment of deliberation, she sighs. “A long while ago, I was in a position similar to yours. Stranded, without friends, in a place full of people who were eager to use me the moment I slipped.” She stares forward at a fountain, the statues carved from a milky jade, children of various appearances splashing in the ankle-length water. “And though many could help me if they wanted, none of them did. So I swore to the Ancient Ones that if I were ever in a position to help someone like me, I would.” Sela flashes you a smile. “So I did. But spending time with you turned out to be very enjoyable, so now it’s because I want to help you, not because of the oath.”

 

You don’t ask her what happened, because she seems uncomfortable saying what she has so far. What you do focus on, however, is Sela’s desire to spend time with you. At her declaration, you fumble desperately for words that could possibly describe your own fondness for her company. Besides the fact that you will always be eternally grateful that she saved your skin (literally), her calming presence is a constant in your new life that, without, would make your existence much more complicated and terrible.

 

As soon as you opened your mouth to say anything, Sela points out the leather shop just ahead. Inside, you are quickly ushered to a corner where you are seated on a large chair, one sort of like those pedicure chairs with a stool instead of a foot bath. Your feet are measured to the millimeter, some kind of plaster cast made so that the workers don’t have to build around your foot.

 

A leather corset is then fitted around your body, runes etched on the inside of the leather to ward off malicious spirits and sprites, the ribs some kind of metal that is supposed to make it harder to cut through with blades. You love it the moment Sela helps buckle the straps around your front, the armor accenting your curves in all the right places. On one of the straps, Sela attaches a small, but beautifully decorated sheath.

 

“That looks like it matches,” she states, nodding at the clerk to add it to the bill.

 

“I don’t have a knife?” You say, wondering if knives were just a thing people have here and so she assumed the same of you.

 

Then Sela looks up at you from her kneeling position, her fingers still fiddling with the buckles of the corset straps, and she winks.

 

You are superbly distracted by every little twitch and touch and brush of her fingers against the leather that hugs your stomach, to the point of almost missing that small gesture. Once your brain fully processes it, about two seconds too late, she is pulling away and negotiating the price of the bill with one of the leatherworkers. Warmth blossoms in your face as your brain does a replay of what just happened. Her closeness, the way her lips quirked up as though the two of you were sharing a funny secret, the sound her nails made as they tapped on the corset.

 

Managing to gather your wits, you unbuckle your corset clumsily as a blue-haired attendant waits to place around a mannequin altered with your measurements. It would be a long while before the shoes are made and the corset gets its finishing touches, so Sela decides to take you out to breakfast.

 

“I know I should not be keeping you out too long,” she says apologetically, “so I will take you back after a meal and make sure the stuff is delivered to the inn tonight.”

 

“Sela, I don’t think you understand that you have done so much more for me than anyone else has in the entirety of my life.” You know it is dangerous to thank people here where favors can be called in when you least expect them, but your heart is so full of gratitude that you say it for her. “Thank you, Sela. I really, truly mean it.”

 

You love her smile, the way her violet lips perk up and her eyes glitter as she looks at you. “It is worth it to me. You are worth it to me.”

 

You file that away to carefully dissect and question and lose yourself in for later that night. The breakfast place Sela takes you is beautiful, the walls covered in glass to allow the sunlight to stream in, the tables and chairs far more modern looking than Abilene’s inn. Already you could tell that this place is rather upscale, but you have spent enough time with Sela and her spending habits not to protest. You know she can afford this.

 

Even so, looking over the menu with the still almost foreign prices listed under the products, you want to balk. But you smile and order what seems good to the classily dressed waitress awaiting your decision. As your food is cooking, Sela prompts you to tell her about your life on Earth, or ‘Terrae,’ as she sometimes calls it. You say the basics off the top of your head, though it becomes clear that she does not care for the knowledge of things like cars or airplanes or TVs. She just wants to know about you, personally.

 

So you get into some of the things you had not told her before during your time together in the inn. Some difficult things, some embarrassing things, and some shameful things. Topics you would typically only tell someone that you are close to, and though you have not known Sela for particularly long, you feel more at ease telling her these things than anyone else. She looks at you without judgment, agrees with your actions, understands some of the things you have had to do, and squeezes your hand when she senses your regret.

 

“So what about you? What about your position as… a huntress?” You finally ask about her, done talking about yourself for at least a few months.

 

Sela drums her fingers on the table. “I hunt evil things that could endanger people.”

 

When she does not elaborate, you ask, “Dangerous how, exactly?”

 

“Not all spirits are well and good, as you know.” She folds her hands in front of her and focuses on her glass of water. “Some are completely vile and would hurt others given free rein. I keep that from happening.”

 

The food comes out, your waiter balancing the dishes with perfect ease. You wait for Sela to begin eating before you even pick up your fork, brain working to figure out how to ask for more details without coming off as rude. “Do you enjoy your work?”

 

“It’s a job.” Sela shrugs. “And it pays well.”

 

“Right, I get it.” You nod, picking at your food. It tastes downright spectacular, everything melting on your tongue as though it were made to become one with your body.

 

Once you are finished with your food, Sela slides a box about the size of a ruler across the table. “Anyway,” she clears her throat, “this is for you. It’s been three months since you have been here, I thought it was about time you arm yourself with something besides a broomstick.”

 

You already know what is inside, but a jolt of excitement goes through you anyway. Lifting the lid of the box, you see a wickedly sharp dagger, glimmering warm in the morning sunlight. The crossguard is etched with runes, the aura of which you can feel through your fingertips as you gently trace the inscriptions. The blade itself is of dark gray metal with tiny bits of black weaving through. “I love it, I really do,” you say, catching your breath, “I- I just don’t know how to use a weapon like this.”

 

Sela shrugs. “I know. I’ll teach you how to use it.”

 

You look up at her. “Really?”

 

“You think I would give someone one of the best weapons possible crafted by the best smith on the market and let it go to waste because it won’t be used? Think again.” She gives you one of her prettiest smiles.

 

“I know, I should have learned to stop underestimating you by now,” you giggle, placing the cover over the dagger. “I have learned my lesson this time, I swear.”

 

“You better,” Sela parodies malice, waggling her finger in your direction. “Or you’ll regret it, missy.”

 

Once the bill is paid, Sela walks you back to the inn, the city fading away as though you are walking through a millenia instead of a mile. “I had one of the best times of my life,” you say to her, recognizing the faint flicker of purple LEDs in the daytime. Even though it’s almost afternoon, you feel positively exhausted from the late hours your body has adjusted to since working at night.

 

“So did I,” Sela reaches for your hand and gives it a quick squeeze.

 

Your heart thudding in your throat, you turn to face her as you come to the entrance of the inn. “So, um, this is goodbye for now.”

 

“For now.” Sela agrees, turning to face you fully. “But I will be seeing you tonight of course, as per usual.”

 

“I do look forward to it.” You respond.

 

You aren’t sure who made the first move, or if it was simultaneous, but each of your fingers laces around her’s, hands folding against one another’s and holding tightly. She leans forward before you, almost but not quite touching your lips, and waits for you to meet her halfway. You do, the warmth of her mouth hitting you like an electric shock, your mouth tingling from the contact.

 

Then the two of you untangle from each other. You do not doubt yourself, do not question what you just did. In fact, you feel more at peace than you have since you stumbled through into this world. One single kiss, chaste, perfect, is all it takes to nearly send you to your knees.

 

“Tonight,” Sela says, a promise of new beginnings.

 

“Tonight,” you agree, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

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